Harry Potter and the HalfBlood Prince
by speck211
Summary: With the war upon the wizarding world, it's hard to tell friends from enemies as well as enemies from friends.


DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or places or what have you in this story. All belong the lovely J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 1

The rain came down in sheets. It had been a miserably wet summer for Surrey, England and while this did benefit the often well-manicured lawns of Privet Drive, it didn't do much for the disposition of its residents. This was especially true for a particular individual living at Number Four. His bright green eyes stared lazily out an upstairs window at the falling drops hitting the street below. In the opinion of Harry Potter, the dismal weather suited him just fine. It perfectly reflected the dismal mood he'd been in the entire summer.

It may seem curious that a young, sixteen-year-old boy wouldn't be happy that it was summer time. But Harry felt miserable for good reason. The thing was, he wasn't an ordinary boy at all; far from it in fact.

When he was just eleven years old Harry had discovered that he was actually, of all things, a wizard. You can well imagine how terribly shocked and happy he felt when he learned, on his eleventh birthday, that he was to be whisked away to Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (by the school's giant groundskeeper Hagrid) to study magic and the ways of the magical world. This was especially good news as he could finally escape the harsh lifestyle his aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon, along with their bully of an only son Dudley, had provided for him his entire young life.

But it wasn't all grand and wonderful. While growing up, the tyrannical Dursleys had raised Harry to believe that his parents had died in a car accident when he was only one. Upon arriving in the wizarding world, however, he quickly discovered the truth. The Potter name was famous and his parents, James and Lilly (the latter of whom being Petunia's sister), had actually been killed by Lord Voldemort, the darkest wizard of the age. They died protecting Harry from his wrath, and when the Dark Lord had turned his wand on Harry to kill him, he was instead reduced to next-to-nothingness. Harry was left orphaned, with nowhere else to go but the Dursley's. Voldemort was believed to be destroyed, but since Harry's return he had tried several times to regain power and, much to most of the wizarding world's misfortune, he had succeeded.

That success was in Harry's fourth year at Hogwart's, and since then Voldemort had been trying to continue his reign of terror. Only last year (Harry's fifth) he had sent servants, known as Death Eaters, to do his bidding. They were to find a prophecy in the Ministry of Magic that held horrible news for Harry, as it enlightened him to what was essentially his destiny. It was revealed that he was the only one who could kill the Dark Lord, and would have to do so or risk being killed himself by Voldemort.

So it is quite understandable that there was no smile on this boys face. As if all the aforementioned events hadn't been terrible enough, Harry had also lost one of the nearest thing to family he'd ever known; his godfather, Sirius Black. Harry had been deceived into thinking that his godfather was in danger, and was lured to the Ministry of Magic to save him. Upon arriving he discovered that Sirius was not there and that his own life was the one in danger. Sirius, who had been back at his home, Grimmauld place, rushed to Harry's rescue the second he found he was in trouble. But during a heated battle he was hit by a curse and sent sailing back through a mysterious curtain, never to be heard from again.

Sirius had been the closest link to his father that Harry had ever known. To lose Sirius was to lose his parents all over again, and it left a gaping hole in his heart. He found it hard to face every new day, more so living with the Dursleys.

At the end of the school year past, on the ride home from being picked up at Kings Cross Station, Harry never once opened his mouth. This was fine with Uncle Vernon who hated even the thought of entertaining a conversation with the boy. Vernon kept asking questions of Dudley instead, who would only murmur and give one word answers as he eyed Harry warily. Dudley had experienced his share of angry or upset wizards, having sprouted a tail courtesy of Hagrid, and a two-ton tongue from a conveniently placed candy. Even just last summer he had been attacked by Dementors - guards of the wizard prison Azkaban who feed on happiness and the human soul. As such, his fear of Harry's air of gloom was warranted.

As for Aunt Petunia, whenever she thought Harry wasn't looking, she would steal concerned glances at him in the rear-view mirror. The last time she did this, their eyes met. She'd quickly looked away, seemingly flustered and then snapped at her son to answer his father properly. This was odd behaviour for her, as Petunia had never shown an ounce of anything resembling concern for Harry in his life. Perhaps they had somehow been informed of his Godfather's death, although Harry didn't see how this made a much of a difference as nothing had moved his aunt to care at all in the past. They had come somewhat close to an understanding last year when Harry found out she had taken him in willing along with everything that entailed, which must have required some semblance of kind-heartedness. But of course Harry wasn't even sure if the concern she was showing was for his well-being or just the fact that she worried he might do something rash in his state and be a danger to her family. Whatever the case, he hadn't the strength to think about it.

When they'd arrived home, Harry had gone straight to his bedroom and had been there most of the summer. He left it occasionally to use the bathroom or shower when the Dursleys were out, or to steal food from the fridge when they slept. He wasn't sure if they noticed the missing items, but he could swear that some of the food was prepared and wrapped specifically for him to take. And several times his aunt actually prepared him meals, slipping them through the trap door his uncle had installed last summer for that very purpose when they had imprisoned Harry in his room. When Vernon caught her doing this once, she replied somewhat shrilly that she would not have a dead body in her house, as she was worried of what the neighbours would think.

Occasionally Harry would hear his uncle's booming voice announce up the stairs,

"Let him stay there. Let him rot." Harry expected no decency from him and he certainly received none. Part of him hoped he was unnerving Vernon by staying locked away.

It was now mid July and Harry lay on his bed looking up at the ceiling tiles, trying to keep his mind empty. His scar dully throbbed as it had begun to do often since Voldemort's return. He was learning more and more how his scar was a link to the Dark Lord, as it would sting painfully whenever Voldemort was near and Harry could tell when he was feeling particularly happy or angry. He even had dreams, or rather premonitions of what Voldemort was doing, though that hadn't been since school ended. While it sounds like a good thing, the ability to know of his enemy's goings-on, it had been more of a curse to Harry than anything. It was the premonitions that had led him to believe Sirius had been in trouble at the Ministry. He didn't see how he could ever forgive himself for being so naïve.

The house was painfully quiet, ringing in Harry's ears. The Dursleys had gone to visit Vernon's sister Marge, a woman who looked quite similar to Vernon with the same beefy neck, obese physique and incidentally the same thin mustache. She had just returned from a vacation in Florence and they were to take her out for a welcome-home dinner. She loathed Harry and so he was left behind, much to the reluctance of his uncle who, as they were walking out the door, barked threats up the stairs to Harry if he should dare to venture outside his room. Of course he had no plans to do so and had been in the same position since they'd left an hour ago. He sighed sinking further back into the pillows. He wished his pet owl, Hedweig, were in her cage making noise. Harry had let her out earlier, though, and she was probably now looking for her dinner and wouldn't return any time soon. He turned his head to the floor of the room. Books and papers were strewn everywhere. Harry could see the cover page of a newspaper, _The Daily Prophet_, with the headline reading:

**WIZARD FAMILY SLAIN  
**_Ministry struggles to keep Muggles in the dark_

This elicited another sigh from the boy; he'd read many headlines like these in the past month or so, in wizard and muggle newspapers alike. They all read the same way, with mysterious disappearances, suspicious deaths and muggles becoming wise to strange occurrences. _Hermione was right,_ Harry thought sadly, _the war really has begun._

Hermione Granger was one of Harry's best friends from school. She was a frighteningly intelligent girl, with bushy brown hair and slim stature. She was often at odds with their other best friend Ronald Weasley, a tall, redheaded boy with more siblings than you could count on one hand. Ron's mother and father, Molly and Arthur, had become like parents to Harry and he wished he could be at the Burrow, the Weasley's home.

But sadly, he hadn't heard from any of them. Not a word since summer began. Never before, since they had met in first year, had so many months gone by without any contact from his friends, and Harry was becoming disturbed by this. Even last year, when they were restricted from saying too much in their letters, they had still made an attempt at writing anything they could. He had no idea what had become of them over the break, though his imagination enjoyed helping him suppose the worst. He had visions of the Burrow being burnt to the ground, or Hermione being attacked in her home, or any member of the Weasley clan being held as a hostage of the war. These thoughts constantly plagued his mind, and with every day that went by with no sign of any of them they only got worse. He was becoming so anxious he had begun devising ways to escape the Dursley's to the Burrow. But every time he took it too far, he would force himself to stop. Harry had quickly been learning that his impetuousness was the best route to getting himself into trouble. Although it killed him to do so, he had taken to putting a stop to strategizing and turning instead to homework assignments. He had to admit he had accomplished more work this summer than he had in an entire school year.

Harry slowly sat up and looked around the room. He suddenly had an uneasy feeling. He stood, walking over to the door to open it and listen out in the hall. But he heard nothing. He walked over to the window and peered into the front garden below. At first nothing seemed unusual. The street was quiet, and the air was still. But just as he was about to turn back into the room, Harry saw the bushes move and he froze. There wasn't a breeze, and even if their had been it wouldn't explain the unnatural rustling he heard, like something had been thrown into the bush. He watched it closely for any other sign of movement, wondering if he had been seeing things in his already anxious state. There was no way it could be mistaken, however, as he heard the living room window open. This snapped him into action as he slammed his own window shut and dove to the floor to open a hidden panel under his bed. He took his wand out of the small hole and moved swiftly out of his room to the top of the stairs. Listening down, he heard more rustling in the living room and then the window closing. He took the stairs carefully and crept across the hallway to lean inside the living room doorway. There was nothing there. He scanned every corner of the room, but saw nothing.

He moved inside the room, and as he did so he heard hushed whispers in the corner behind the couch. He whipped around to the sound, but again saw nothing. Fear ran up his spine, and his breathing became loud in his ears. He held his wand up to the direction of the sound and said,

"Who's there? Show yourself!" His lone voice sounded feeble in the silence. Then an excited voice spoke:

"Harry!" And suddenly two identical seventeen year olds with red hair appeared out of nowhere, wearing identical grins. "Don't worry mate. It's only us, Gred and Forge!"


End file.
